


Arthur's Duckling

by orphan_account



Series: Mother's Day series [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Fluff, Gen, Kid!Fic, M/M, Pre-Slash, Ratings: PG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:39:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur tries to save a duckling from certain death.<br/>This is a canon era AU. Merlin and Arthur are eight and nine. It's another addition to the Mother's Day verse! Reading those fics might help, but it's not essential.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arthur's Duckling

**Author's Note:**

> This was beta'd by the delightful [Thuri](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Thuri/)! Bless her.  
> And it was also inspired by real life events (unfortunately).

Water rushed along the stream, rippling and swirling in no particular pattern. In the shallows, there were slick brown stones covered in moss and slime, but towards its middle, the water was a deep turquoise. Sunlight pooled on the nearby ground, tinted green by the forest leaves above.

Arthur and Merlin had chosen this spot because the shade was a cool relief from the hot sun, and the flowing water was loud enough to drown out any shouts of ‘The prince! Where’s the prince?’ from maids and heralds amongst the trees. It was far too beautiful a day to be caught out by some smarmy servant and marched back to see the king.

Arthur  _knew_  he should’ve apologised for knocking over that suit of armour, but at the time, Merlin’s suggestion of ‘Leg it!’ had seemed far more appealing. Their quick feet and secret eastern passageway had easily delivered them beyond the castle walls, but Arthur’s brand new red shirt stuck out like a sore thumb against the green fields, so they’d made for the cover of the forest.

That was how Arthur had come to be sitting uncomfortably on a shore of pebbles, watching Merlin fish for tadpoles -- if standing in the stream, rolling his trousers up to his knees, bending over with his fingers in the water and his arse in the air counted as  _fishing_ , and Arthur suspected it didn’t. Every now and then, Merlin would make a particularly big splash and turn around to grin at Arthur, his dark fringe dripping with water and his cupped hands swimming with tiny tadpoles.

Arthur pretended he didn’t hear the whisper of Merlin’s voice between the running ripples. He’d  _told_  Merlin not to use magic countless times, so there really was nothing else he could do. Nobody was near, anyway, and catching tadpoles (magically or not) was keeping Merlin from chattering on endlessly, which, in Arthur’s opinion, could only be a good thing.

Averting his gaze from Merlin’s wiggling bottom, Arthur stared across the stream, pouting a little. Why did Merlin get to have a dangerous secret, and he didn’t? He was a prince, after all, he should be constantly under threat... but nobody seemed all that bothered. So why could Merlin do magic when he couldn’t?

Merlin had babbled about it being ‘destiny’ before, but Arthur wouldn’t be king for what felt like a hundred years -- he was still training with wooden weapons, for goodness sakes -- so why did Merlin get his half early? It really wasn’t fair. Arthur was the oldest. He should’ve been able to do everything Merlin could, plus extra.

As he stared at the rocks on the opposite bank, Arthur saw a flash of yellow.

“What was that?” he asked aloud, squinting across the stream.

“What? Nothing!” Merlin squeaked, straightening up at once. He was clearly under the impression he’d been caught using magic, and was doing a terrible job of looking innocent.

“It’s a duckling!” Arthur shouted, scrambling to his feet. “Look, on the rocks!”

He shook his finger at the fluffy little thing and Merlin’s gaze followed. Eventually, he spotted it too. “Oh yeah... he’s all alone!”

“We have to save him,” Arthur decided at once. After all, this duckling was a fluffy little citizen of Camelot and he had every right to be protected by the prince.

“What?” Merlin pulled a bewildered face. “Why? He’s okay.”

“ _Because_ , Merlin, ducklings that small can’t fend for themselves. He’s clearly lost his mother.” Arthur bent over, yanking off his boots at top speed.

A look of confusion ghosted over Merlin’s face as he stared back and forth between Arthur and the duckling. “Won’t she come back for him?”

Merlin’s voice was small and timid, making Arthur stop to look up at him. He could be so naive sometimes; so innocent. Arthur was far more worldly-wise. Merlin, of course, expected every mother to be like his own. Arthur knew better.

“No, Merlin, she won’t,” he sighed. “Unless we help him, he’ll die.”

Arthur’s tone dared Merlin to challenge him; to argue that not all mothers left, that some stayed behind for their sons, but he did nothing of the sort. Instead, Merlin just frowned at his feet, which were still oddly distorted by the water flowing over them in the stream. They looked large and pale against the dark rocks.

Casting his boots behind him and ignoring the pain of a toe viciously stubbed on a protruding pebble, Arthur stormed into the stream. The cold water sucked the air from his lungs and he squealed in shock. His first instinct was,  _Out! Get them out!_  so he did. Arthur lifted his left foot and shook it, trying to get any feeling besides intense pain back into it. Unfortunately, his escape instinct wasn’t quite communicating with his balance instinct, and he tried lifting the other leg at the same time.

The result was, inevitably, a wet arse and a ruckus of laughter from Merlin. Arthur sat in the stream, shivering from head to (bruised) toe.

“It’s n-not f-funny, M-M--Merlin!” Arthur shouted, glaring up at Merlin, who was covering his mouth with his hand and taking shuddering gasps as he tried to breathe between laughs.

“I think you’ll find it  _is_!” he panted.

Arthur knew something funnier -- a freezing cold Merlin. With one quick movement, he reached up and tugged Merlin’s waistband, sending him toppling over into the stream and  _on top of Arthur_.

“Merlin!” Arthur yelped, struggling up off his back, completely drenched. “What’s wrong with you? Learn to fall properly!”

“You should learn to push properly,” Merlin hiccuped, clearly surprised by the cold of the water but still relatively dry.

“Shut up,” Arthur swiped for Merlin’s legs again as the arrogant sod pushed himself back onto his feet using Arthur’s shoulder as leverage. He missed, although that was purely Merlin’s fault for dodging -- Arthur’s aim was perfect.

“Why’re you charging into the stream, anyway?” Merlin asked, regaining the amused tease in his voice as his surprise over falling subsided. He rubbed his hand through Arthur’s wet hair, smirking at Arthur’s angry attempt to brush him off. “I can bring the duckling back over here using my--”

“No,” Arthur sulked, “ _I’m_  the prince, it’s  _my_  job to protect the creatures of Camelot. I’m getting him  _myself_.”

He grappled to his feet, face set in determination. Luckily, the duckling hadn’t moved from where he was floating nervously between the rocks on the far side of the stream. Arthur fixed his eyes on the little ball of yellow fluff and dragged his legs into motion -- wading through the water.

It didn’t take long to reach the other side, and Arthur was sure to be careful with his footing -- only stumbling once or twice. A string of noises sounded out behind him every time he swayed, but Merlin seemed to be alternating between cooing in concern and giggling from the anticipation of Arthur crashing into the water again.

The duckling began chirping frantically as Arthur approached, and when he reached out a hand to grab hold of the fuzz ball and thus save it from certain death, it wriggled between a gap in the rocks and popped out on the other side. Merlin squealed and Arthur cursed loudly, straining his neck to see where the little thing had disappeared.

“There he goes!” Merlin shouted, pointing frantically downstream.

The current was stronger than it looked, and the little bird was pulled along quickly, his mad flapping making no difference at all. Little more than a yellow spec, Arthur watched helplessly as the duckling spun around and around in the centre of the stream, bumping up and down over the tiny rapids created by large stones covered with algae.

Arthur’s heart thrummed in his chest, he was deaf to Merlin’s worried squeaks behind him. He was losing the duckling. The first thing he’d ever tried to save -- his first attempt at filling his duty and protecting all the living things in Camelot -- was being washed downstream. Lost forever, and it was his fault. He’d frightened the stupid little thing away. He’d been to loud, too brazen, too careless, and--

“Hey!” Arthur shouted, “that’s  _my_  duckling!”

He gaped, watching the duckling spin into the shallows and swim happily towards a mother duck. She shook her tail and took the duckling under her wing, guiding it towards a huddle of yellow fuzz balls on the next section of stony shore.

Pulling his gaze away from the ducks, Arthur saw Merlin clapping his hands, grinning as he shouted, “She came back! He’s with his mother!”

“I know!” Arthur’s disbelieving tone was the exact opposite of Merlin’s. “Sneaky little fiend! I bet she was there the whole time and he just wanted to make an idiot out of me!”

Arthur kicked the water in outrage. How  _dare_  some water fowl make a fool of him? He was just trying to do his princely duty. Scowling down the stream again, Arthur took a step towards Merlin without paying proper attention and found himself flat on his face in the water. Again.

Lifting his head out of the ice-cold stream, Arthur spat out a mouthful of water and shook his fringe. It was a few minutes before Arthur realised that Merlin  _wasn’t_  laughing at him. He looked up to see where the little oaf had scuttled off to, only to be met by another face full of water. 

“ _Merlin_!” he spluttered, coughing up a soaking wet leaf. “What d’you think you’re  _doing_?”

“Sorry!” came Merlin’s voice above him, shrill and shaking. The cold was finally getting to him as well, but it seemed like worry was leading his actions.

Arthur felt bony arms around his sides as Merlin’s hands hooked under his stomach, pulling him to his feet. He stumbled, slipping on the slimy rocks and stubbing another toe. He didn’t like having to be helped by  _Merlin_ , of all people, but at that moment Arthur suspected his pride had frozen off, and he simply needed to get out of the water before his capacity for rational thought went the same way.

*

The next thing he knew, Arthur’s back was impacting with the hard ground, and he was groaning. Eyes screwed shut tight, he spread his hands out on either side of him and felt the touch of grass beneath his fingers. The sun shone down on his skin.

Someone was fussing around near him, and Arthur opened one eye, squinting up to see a mop of dark hair leaning over him.

“Merlin?” he croaked, and if he hadn’t heard Merlin scream like a girl a thousand times, Arthur might’ve been embarrassed by the feeble sound of his own voice.

“Arthur,” there was the definite sound of a grin in Merlin’s voice, although Arthur couldn’t see his face properly because his eyes were burning with the light of the sun.

“How did I get here?”

“Erm, don’t be angry...”

“Did you use magic again?” Arthur tried to sounded irritated and threatening, but he broke into a small coughing fit and so just ended up sounding very ill.

He felt something on his chest and realised Merlin was covering him with his coat. It smelt like straw and Gaius’ chambers, but at least it was dry -- Merlin had pulled it off just before wading into the stream to fish. Arthur coughed again, eyes still closed, and he felt Merlin’s hand on his forehead.

“Ger’off,” he mumbled, moving his head in an attempt to shake away Merlin’s hand. “M’fine.”

“Of course you are, Arthur,” the (admittedly, very small) weight of Merlin lying down pressed against Arthur’s right shoulder, and a long arm closed around his chest. “It’s the middle of summer. Only a total prat could catch a cold when it’s this hot.”

Arthur snorted, raising his left hand to swat Merlin for being so insolent. It didn’t make it -- Arthur’s reflexes were too numbed by the cold, and Merlin’s fingers knotted with his before they had the chance to form a decent fist.


End file.
